


A Circle Has No End, No Beginning

by CeridwenofWales



Series: The Sea Wolves [4]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Slavery, The Sea Wolves Spin Off, The Sea Wolves Spin-off, Viking Age, Viking Family Feels, Vikings, Vikings in Britain, Vikings in Ireland, viking raid, vikings in scotland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-10 07:36:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13497578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeridwenofWales/pseuds/CeridwenofWales
Summary: This is a spin-off of Alpha and Omega (The Sea Wolves sequel).In this story we will see Sigtrygg Ivarsson going to Alba (Scotland), and remembering his mother's past.





	1. The Journey

 

 

A horn blew, and a brutal jolt told Sigtrygg that the boat started moving. They were going to his mother’s homeland. He couldn’t help wondering if she would like to see the fields from her childhood once more.

 

 

_Would Moðir be happier there? Or would a journey to her past reopen her wounds?_

 

 

Sigtrygg doubted her village would be the same. His mother was not the same woman that left Alba so many seasons before either. An aching in his heart as he thought how helpless she must have felt. Lonely, hurt, grieving, terrified. Yet, she was capable to love and reassure him of this intense devotion whenever Sigtrygg felt like he was an imposition on her body and not the result of love between two people.

 

 

Sometimes he would laugh bitterly whenever Moyra mentioned they were bonded by indestructible love. A love that turned her feet into roots to life. He imagined this love, his existence also chained Moyra somehow. Sigtrygg wondered how it would be Moyra’s life if she had hidden better. He wouldn’t exist, of course.

 

 

_Would Moðir have been happier? Would Moðir have been anything she wanted to be? What was that she wanted to be before Faðir?_

 

 

Sigtrygg was quiet during the journey, but his mind was like waves reaching the shore and bringing fears that couldn’t be kept hidden into the depths. Things that Ran rejected would always be seen on the beach. Sigtrygg felt like he could fly with the speed of the ship and the wind blowing across his face, tangling his hair.

 

 

_It is probably like _Faðir_ felt on their journey back, while _Moðir_ had tears rolling down her cheeks. _

 

 

Without storms to delay or put them in danger, the journey was pleasant. Sigtrygg was watching the crew laughing and anticipating the wealth and slaves they would take back home. For a moment, he was relieved her mother had no relatives alive anymore. At least Sigtrygg wouldn't have to think that one of the people fated to taste the metal of his sword might be of his blood.

 

 

The waves hitting the keel sprinkled Sigtrygg's face and it was like the sea from his mother's land was naming him again. Naming him through water as his father did when he couldn't remember. He stood by the edge of the boat and looked at the water beneath him, images of Selkies, Kelpies and mermaids coming to his mind and how he was always eager for Moyra to tell more stories.

 

 

Weeks after their departure, Sigtrygg finally saw the coast. Alba's coast. It was a scene like no other he could compare to. Erin's grass was as green as in Alba, but there was something about visiting his mother's land that it was almost magical. To see this new land coming out of the mist, was like waking up from a dream. That suspended time in which one is still confused, vision blurred and unable to distinguish between reality and fantasy. It was a new land, but at the same time he knew so much about the legends and tales from this place from Moyra's voice. A mother is always a good storyteller.

 

 

_Am I really here?_


	2. Freedom Of Choice

 

* * *

 

 

“There’s no need for carnage here, brothers. No one wants to damage or kill strong men that can be valuable.” Sigtrygg reasoned with the warriors under his command. He wanted to believe he was doing what he could not to be extremely or unnecessarily cruel. But Sigtrygg knew that the life of a slave was a destiny far worse than death. At least for him.

 

 

He pitied the men that would soon be chained. People whose eyes would lose the defiance. Their resistance would give place to hollow eyes every slave Sigtrygg has ever known carried. Moyra's son wondered if their spines would bend due the years carrying heavy loads before the sun came out until it was dark again; or if it was the burden of humiliation stooping their shoulders. Shame for not fighting back to reclaim their freedom.

 

 

Sigtrygg couldn't imagine how it felt not to belong to himself, and yet he knew from a distinct perspective. His life didn't belong to him. He would have to live to carry on Ivar's legacy. His name was borrowed and Sigtrygg would have to pass it on untouched by shame to his children in the future. The burden of being son of Ivar Ragnarsson. The same burden that must still be on his father's shoulder as son of Ragnar.

 

 

There was no battle. Not in Sigtrygg’s eyes. The few villagers that stayed were no match for well-trained and armed warriors. Sigtrygg would laugh if he was cruel. Sharp swords against pitchforks was not what he considered a fair or challenging battle. But he had to admit that those men were brave to protect what was precious to them. They fought honorably instead of hiding. They fought as they could, and they lost.

 

 

Sigtrygg entered a house to see if they had some treasure he could take back home. Maybe a jewel he could give his mother, a dress for Màiri…

 

 

Sigtrygg’s mouth started watering as the smell of freshly baked bread reached his nostrils. Whoever was cooking, didn’t go farther. He removed his helmet and placed it with his sword on the table.

 

 

Sigtrygg missed fresh food, after days eating smoked fish and rough, dry bread. He sat at the table, grabbing the loaf of bread and chewing voraciously. Sigtrygg laughed with his mouth full. He thought his mother would probably slap the back of his head if she saw him eating so unceremoniously. Now Sigtrygg needed something to drink.

He searched the room with his eyes, trying to find some mead or ale. His eyes found something much more interesting and he smirked. Whoever baked the warm bread that was filling his stomach was now looking at him with frightened, wide eyes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Eileen felt she should have gone to the Church with her family. She thought, scolding herself that this was a well-deserved punishment for faking a cold not to walk miles to the other village. Sloth was a deadly sin, she considered, while her heart was thumping, and panic threatened to overwhelm her.

 

 

_If I could reach the forest, I would have a chance. No! I can’t go outside. I must stay and hide!_

 

 

Eileen knew that she couldn’t walk outside without the enemies seeing her. She silently prayed that God would forgive and keep her away from the ravenous eyes of the invaders, and that her family wouldn’t come home now.

 

 

_At least they are safe, away from here. What can farmers do against devils?_

 

 

The sound of metal clashing against metal didn’t last longer. Eileen felt her throat tightening. Beads of sweat appeared on her forehead and she trembled visibly. When all was quiet, Eileen started crawling on her hands and knees. She hid behind a small bench and waited for the unavoidable.

 

_I must hide! They will search the house for valuable things they can carry, slaves included. If they don’t see me, I’m safe._

 

 

She heard heavy footsteps approaching and a warrior entering the house as if it was his own. He removed his helmet, placing it with his sword on the small table with a loud clack. Eileen felt blood rushing to her face as fury was taking over her senses.

 

 

She wanted to slap his hand when he took the bread she just baked. Eileen was sure his grin would be wolfish, his mouth filled with yellowish fangs. But she saw he had two rows of white and healthy teeth as Sigtrygg smiled widely, smelling the bread.

 

 

Eileen wanted to yell that the bread was not meant for him. She wanted to shout she would never bake something to fill his belly. It would be served to her family when they arrived from the Mass, but now she hoped they wouldn’t come. Eileen was silently begging that they wouldn’t come until the intruders were gone.

 

 

 _Is he always voracious?_ Eileen analyzed the way he was grunting while devouring the bread. His short beard couldn’t hide the sharpness of his jaw. She couldn’t say the color of his eyes as Sigtrygg kept them closed while eating. He started laughing, eyes crinkling and mouth full.

 

 

 _He must be thinking about the blood he just spilled_. Eileen thought, although she couldn’t see blood on his armor.

 

 

She wondered if it was possible to reach his sword, but she couldn’t risk giving away her hiding spot.

 

 

He started cleaning his mouth with the back of his hand, and Eileen pursed her lips in disgust. The sunlight shining through the gaping door allowed her to see his dark blue  eyes while Sigtrygg turned his head from side to side, searching for something she didn’t know.

 

 

It seemed he found what he wanted as he rose to his feet and started walking to her, a grin forming on his lips. Eileen felt her legs weak and thought about running to the door. But then she would have to face more of his kin. She was trapped, her heart hammering in her chest painfully.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sigtrygg notices her looking at the door and growls. Eileen is sure he means to forbid her to go outside. She shakes her head, pressing her lips together as her mind plays tricks.

 

 

_Would he be trying to protect me from the chaos erupting outside?_

Unable to move, Eileen can only watch Sigtrygg stepping closer. She releases a breath she didn’t realize she has holding when Sigtrygg let his sword on the table. A chill runs through her veins, her skin tingles in places she didn’t know it was possible until now.

 

 

 _He won’t kill me!_ Eileen reflects, with a short-lived relief.

_He will do worse._ The lump in her throat intensifies. He is now squatting before her, his soulful blue eyes inspecting her tear-stained cheeks. Sigtrygg lifts his hand to wipe away the tears from eyes that remind him so much of his mother. His jaw drops when the girl flinches at the possibility of his hand touching her. Eileen turns her face to the opposite side, tears streaming down her face. Her tightly shut eyes prevented her from seeing how Sigtrygg seems haunted, brow creased and eyes wide.

 

 

Sigtrygg can’t deny his blood boiling at the sight of the beautiful maiden. He knows his body is reacting to her, but he can’t, and he won’t force her or any other woman.

 

 

“Thank you for the bread. Would you have some ale or wine?” His voice is soft and when Eileen opens her eyes, she sees an odd tenderness. But then her confusion gives way to wrath.

 

 

_How dare this man ask me for more? Ask me for wine?_

 

 

Sigtrygg is amused that this small woman is glaring at him, “So… Do you have ale? I’m thirsty…” Eileen gasps as she finally notices he is talking in her language.

 

 

“How do you speak my language?” She tilts her head in a gesture Sigtrygg finds adorable.

 

 

“My mother taught me. You remind me of her. She was like you…” Sigtrygg whispers, a smile on his lips.

 

 

“I doubt your mother and I have something in common. She must be a pagan.” Eileen hisses through clenched teeth and regrets immediately. Sigtrygg’s nostrils are flaring, his breath washing over her face as ragged waves on the cliffs. But Eileen is not a solid rock, she is trembling as a leaf fighting the wind.

 

 

“Don’t talk about my mother!” The gentleness is gone and Eileen sobs with the coldness in his voice.

 

 

Sigtrygg rises to his feet, prepared to leave her, “You will be safe here. Keep hiding!”

 

 

Eileen offended him, and she wants to slap herself for feeling regret eating her from inside.

 

 

_Why should I apologize for some words when he did worse?_

 

 

She is breathing heavily, watching his broad shoulders moving as he walks to the table to pick his sword and helmet. A tantalizing throbbing has already begun to spread through her belly. Eileen ponders that she is angry that he didn’t reply to her offense. He didn’t hurt her. He had not shown himself for the ruthless Norseman Eileen had heard tales about all her life.

 

 

_Of course that’s the reason._

 

 

He looks at her from over his shoulder while Eileen can only blink her teary eyelids. When his gaze proves to be too heavy, she lowers her eyelids shyly. None of them dare to say another word. She opens and closes her mouth many times, while Sigtrygg seems to be waiting for her to say something.

 

 

 _He must think I am stupid…  Why am I worried about what he thinks of me?_ _This heathen will go away, and my life will proceed as always has been._

 

 

“What has been taking so long, Sig? We must go!” Eileen gasps and immediately covers her mouth when another man steps inside. It’s too late, her sound attracted his eyes over her.

 

 

“I see what has been keeping your… attention.” The strange smirks and is ready to walk to her when Sigtrygg places a hand on his shoulder.

 

 

“No. Leave her!” Sigtrygg bellows as the other man burst into laughter.

 

 

“What if I don’t?” The new stranger raises his chin in insubordination. Eileen is powerless, watching them. Maybe if they start fighting, she will have a chance to escape through the door. But then she will have to fight her way out of the hell that must be outside, until she can reach the forest. Even then she won’t be safe as they can track her.

 

 

Sigtrygg looks between her and the other man and speak the words Eileen dreads the most, “She is mine.”


End file.
